I’ve always had difficulty using the word training when speaking of Akropolis Performance Lab’s work done outside of the frameworks of either rehearsal or performance. Much of my difficulty stems from the fact that in our product-oriented society, training is generally understood to indicate the learning of some skill or the preparation for another day, some future event, a more significant act. A runner trains for a marathon by running a little further everyday. For me the reality is something else. Still, from as far back as Stanislavsky (in the modern era), training is the word which tradition hands to us. Even Grotowski, who similarly rejected the idea of this word, continued to use it. So to my mind it’s an easy, but disingenuous, word, carrying enough sense of purpose that no one questions what it means when they hear it. By using it ourselves, we avoid—perhaps it’s equally appropriate to say we are deprived of— deeper illumination of our work. Who do we serve by not articulating clear explanations of what we do and why? We cannot pretend to understand what our work is about if we cannot bring others to a more illuminated understanding of it. And we do a great disservice to our heritage abandoning it to misunder- standing and obscurity. Periodically, we must reflect upon what we do; evaluating and explicating both our means and the intentions which shape them.
This reflection must be done in accordance with our lives and needs, and it must help us as we labor to define the process as our own.
Translating an Idea into Action
The work we have called (inadequately) training for so many years is better defined by the word praxis, from the Greek for “to do”: a “practical application or exercise of a branch of learning; a habitual or established practice; Custom. Translating an idea into action.” APL is a community brought together—not in pursuit of money, or a particular product, or notoriety—for the opportunities opened to us by the practices of the group. Opportunities to embody our craft, to come to deeper understandings of ourselves, to establish more profound connections with others. Our custom. Our culture. Containing the ethos and values which we share and which distinguish for us the importance of performance. The idea which we endeavor to put into action—the work we embrace, wrestle, absorb into the cells of our bodies and continually seek to define even while it more readily defines us—is our praxis. Unlike training, which implies preparation for some future event, praxis represents our personal relationship to the present moment. Where do I stand today, with these people, in this space? How do I relate to my culture? How does this culture support me? No preparation for anything else. An arduous assertion: “This is what I do. Here I am. With you. Open.”
Roots not Branches
If there is a flaw in the definition of praxis above as it applies to APL’s laboratory work, it rests in the reference made to a “branch of learning.” The notion of “branch” calls forth images of trees or rivers, particularly that segment which has split from the main body of the river or tree to extend in its own direction. The branch, at one time undifferentiated from the whole, has become diminished. To understand the branch, one must follow it back to the main body itself. I prefer to see the particulars of our praxis as the tributaries, the multitude of roots which unite at the base of the tree, feeding it with various nutrients, connecting it with its origins, strengthening its foundation. To understand the tree, why it stands so strong, why the fruit (in our case each performance event) is bitter or sweet, we must look to the roots and the soil from which they feed. The tree of APL’s praxis has three roots which we call Somatic, Plastic, and Pragmatic. Each involves the performer in a complex interweaving of psychophysical work marked by clear differences in energy and attention.
The Pragmatic root accentuates and exposes our relationships with consistent, definable external forces.
The Plastic root focuses on giving precise physical form to the transforming internal processes of the performer’s stream of associations and memories.
The Somatic root emphasizes the total organism rather than distinguishing any particular part of the performer’s body, mind or environment. Perhaps we can say that the principle somatic challenge centers on the solution of the fragmenting self.
These are, of course, generalized and simplified explanations. They exist only to distinguish the principle characteristics which define each aspect of our praxis. A more elaborate discussion is in order. Let’s begin with Pragmatics.
Pragmatic work involves exploration and application of objective laws which govern the craft of performance. Every performance, regardless of genre, aesthetic, or discipline, is experienced and evaluated according to the performers’ relationships with such universal partners as Time, Weight, Space, and Energy. Granted, the play of these elements in performance generally remains underneath any conscious understanding of the spectator. Even so, one cannot deny their importance. The master performer, by conscious or unconscious means, is always engaged in a dance with these elements.
What is Time? Our human experience of the turning of the Earth as it revolves around the Sun which is moving through the galaxy in an infinite yet expanding universe. The performer who knowingly grasps the reigns of Time attempts to direct our perception of the movement of the heavens. To work with Time is to dance with the cosmos.
We consider time in two forms—Raw Time and Carved Time. Raw Time or Simple Time is our experience of duration. Clock time. Bear in mind that duration cannot be experienced except within the boundaries of inception and cessation. For example, the duration of a life is generally measured from first breath to last. Duration is a measure from now. . . to. . . now. At first this may seem straightforward enough to be almost ridiculous. But, without boundaries, one could argue, time isn’t relevant. All that exists is a continual unfolding of now. The still point of the present moment, outside time.
There is an effort by The Long Now Foundation to create a clock which measures time, not in seconds, minutes, and hours, but in centuries and millennia. Our own lifetimes, including that of the clock’s inventor Danny Hillis, are too small to even permit measurement. He most likely will not live to see the clock measure its first increment. Raw Time exists in the relationship of one moment to another. To me, the boundaries of the Millennium Clock are so broad as to render them non-experiential, at which point any individual life becomes a still point in the movement of the universe. The Raw Time of performance is the relationship of the first moment to the last.
Relationship. We should always work in relation to something else, beyond ourselves. Reality only manifests in relationships. Even light is both particle and wave until it enters into some relationship with an observer. The relationship determines the substance of light.
So, Raw Time is perhaps the most elemental component of performance. We as performers are then obliged to understand the means at our disposal to control the experience of raw time. By consciously applying our understanding of Raw Time to our activities we become sensitive to the changes in our experience of those activities. How do we experience quick activities—for example running—in short bursts as opposed to extended moments? Or slow movements? What happens psychologically? Physiologically? Imaginatively?
Carved Time is the composition and juxtaposition of the metrics of experience. This is Rhythm. Time relating to Time. We should know, particularly as performers, that we do not merely exist in time but that time exists within us…and between us. Structuring moment by moment alterations of time can be powerful means to create engaging experiences for both the performer and the spectator. To understand this, we need only consider that spectators almost always describe the time of a performance from an experiential rather than durational perspective. The movie plodded along. The concert flew by. Each may have occurred in 90 minutes of raw time. But the perception of that time is shaped by the artists ability to carve that raw time into an absorbing, complex, rhythmical arrangement, which also determines, to a very large degree, the value ultimately ascribed to the event.
Time, of course, is just one of the performer’s universal partners. I say partner because I believe that the most valuable way to approach work in these areas is exactly as one should with another being. In partnership. Thinking of this work as purely technical, working with concepts, viewpoints or qualities of movement, leads us to an overemphasis on the aesthetics of form and into a self- centered temperament. When we work actively in partnership with an Other our focus transfers beyond ourselves, our energies radiate outward and we can be open to surprise, challenge and confrontation.
Gravity. The pull of one body on another. Working with weight is, in truth, work with our relation to the Earth, which desires to absorb all matter back into itself. The pull of gravity is strong enough to hold the moon in orbit, but not so overwhelming as to prevent the flight of a butterfly. Every living being carries with them a center of gravity, that point most in contact with the earth, and a center of levity, aspiring toward release. The centrifugal and centripetal desires of bodies. How do we experience the play of these forces in ourselves? How can we alter the dance between the two? What changes when we do?
With this same spirit of investigation we approach, through our pragmatic praxis, our relationships with other universal partners such as:
- Energy—channeled and un-channeled.
- Space—transformations of vibration and tension in the area between objects and bodies.
- Trajectory—the straight or curved line created in space by the movement of objects and bodies.
Based on existing models from Aristotle, Zeami, Meyerhold, and others, we have elaborated a phrasing formula within which we can deal with the challenges of pragmatic work:
charge → trigger → elaboration → peripeteia → culmination → recharge
Charge—the recognition of an intended action and its objective. The charge is manifest as a movement in opposition to the intended action but must always be appropriate to the action. This psychophysical recoil puts the body and mind into the precise state of readiness needed for execution of the action itself, creating the necessary tensions and dilations—the maximum potential for action.
Trigger—this is the transference of energy from the charge into the action. The initiation of the trigger will determine the development of the action. If the charge is appropriate but the trigger falters, does not maximize the potential encoded in the charge, the impact of the action likely will be lost. The trigger is the impulse which transfers the body from potential energy (that energy stored because of a position or configuration) into kinetic energy.
The relationship here between charge and trigger is important enough to elaborate further. Let’s say, for example, that a cat spots a hole in a wall. Upon suspicion that a mouse has hidden itself within the hole, the cat stops and prepares itself to pounce on the mouse as it emerges from the hole. This is the charge, in which a recoil can be observed quite clearly—a lowering of the body, and slight pulling back, away from the hole, loading the haunches with the precise amount of tension needed to propel the cat forward with lightning swiftness. In like manner, the inner state of the cat has also been charged with equal focus and psychic tension. Once charged, there exist two basic possibilities for the cat. Either the tension of the recoil dissipates because the mouse never appears (or there never was a mouse), or there is a stimulus which triggers the initiation of the action—to pounce. Now, whether the stimulus is the actual emergence of the mouse or the surprise appearance of a 3-year-old girl jumping on the cat is generally immaterial. The action encoded in the cat’s body by the recoil is initiated. The cat springs forward. What follows the initiation of that action depends on the development of the specific circumstances. Perhaps the charge dissipates. Perhaps the action requires elaboration.
Elaboration—the conscious development of the action. The question is no longer what action, but how does the action occur. How does one go from A to B? This is answered through elaboration.
Peripeteia—the reversal or series of reversals experienced in the course of executing the intended action. Peripeteia may be intentional or accidental, driven by story or incident. The peripeteia raises the level of complexity in the phrasing of action. Peripeteia always occur from and result in changes of circumstance.
Culmination—Brought about either through fulfillment or rejection of the originally intended action.
Recharge—gathering of energies in anticipation of future action. However, this should not be confused with anticipation of a specific action. More properly, it should be experienced as the establishment of a state of readiness in the performer.
This dissection of action indicates potential components for the composition of any dramatic situation, from the event as a whole to the speaking of a line of text or execution of a simple gesture. Each component allows for the emphasizing of any one of the universal partners while at the same time demanding attention be given to all the others. And while each component is clearly differentiated from the others, the overall movement through the phrase appears as a continuum. This organization of action has proven quite valuable, offering us infinite opportunities for complex pragmatic work. However, we must not attempt to apply the sequence to the development of the performance score as if it were some sort of all-purpose program. Every moment is unique and should never be subjected to the application of any sort of recipe.
Without Rupture or Relaxation
In the world of physics, plasticity refers to the capability of matter to undergo continuous deformation without rupture or relaxation. There couldn’t be a better way to describe the intent behind the work of the plastique exercise which Akropolis Performance Lab has adopted from the Teatr Laboratorium as a primary element of our praxis. The performer, engaged in a continual transformative process, must be precise without rigidity; spontaneous without chaos. The organism must be appropriate as well as sincere. Too much tension leads to rigor mortis while too much relaxation imposes in a kind of anesthesia.
In essence, the Plastique exercise is a psychophysical improvisation using precisely defined body isolations as the language for work. I won’t go into a more detailed description of the technical aspects of the plastique exercise now since I have written about this work more extensively elsewhere. Most importantly, one strives during each improvisation to reveal an intimate creative process inseparable from one’s unique life-potential. The performer must remain receptive, allowing the vital reactions inside the body to reveal themselves through the gesture-vocabulary. In the Plastiques, as in all aspects of APL’s praxis, we never train aesthetic of movement but look rather for the authentic reaction and its embodiment in a precise physical form.
Not to be Divided
Since the close of APL’s 2003 production, Jeanne the Maid, we have dedicated a substantial amount of energy to the definition and development of our somatic praxis. This root of our work has evolved over the course of the past three years from an improvisatory nature into work which is highly structured.
Why the move to a structured approach? Isn’t it possible to confront the demands of this work—unity of the body/mind, surpassing one’s self perceptions, working through resistances—through the more spontaneous course of work with which we began? Absolutely. But structuring the Somatic work also opens other avenues significant to the performer, and these seem to me most aptly dealt with in the somatic context.
The move to structured somatics is also a return to the origins of my work with Grotowski/Slowiak’s approach to physical training. In the training we developed, first in Body Lab and then in New World Performance Lab, structure was always emphasized. Certainly, even now, similarities can be seen with the training from that time, with the primary divergence occurring with the asanas, or headstands and shoulderstands drawn from yoga practice. Slowiak insisted the asanas be kept separate from the training structures themselves, reserving them for the conclusion of each training session, when they were extemporaneously strung together with gentle rolling movements as a sort of cool-down period. We have elected to incorporate the asanas directly into our somatic work. The inclusion of these various inverted positions broadens the spectrum of the somatic experience and opens possibilities otherwise unavailable to the performer. The transformational continuum from upright to horizontal to inverted, etc. requires heightened attention to equilibrium, placement and process which might otherwise be taken for granted in the exclusive employment of more common states of proprioceptive orientation.
In the years following my work with NWPL I felt the need to break from those constraints of structure. Slowiak’s work seemed to forfeit vitality in the quest for an understanding of precision. I began to use the exercises as a means of confronting the spontaneous flow of body-life, improvising with them in order to release into the training freely and dynamically. This is where we began with APL, and working in this manner served us well for 3 years. However, one of the most valuable lessons to come out of Jeanne the Maid was the need for our actors to confront the challenge of sustaining the demands of a highly detailed psychophysical performance score over an extended period of time. In response, we have returned to work with structure through the Somatic Composition.
In our Somatic praxis we are dealing with forms of behavior that are both primary (jumping, tumbling, rising and falling) and complex (asanas, Pilates). The initial work is one of accumulation and elimination. Each performer makes choices in accord with the established parameters of form and vocabulary, which are then tested for the suitable relation to the exercise. Does each exercise facilitate not only an individual purpose, but also the free flow of movement and a transformation of interior justification? The selection/elimination process can be daunting. An option rejected might be perceived as a limitation placed upon one’s personal potential, or the sheer multitude of possibilities may be psychologically overwhelming and stifle one’s ability to create.
Of course, there are physical challenges inherent in the exercises. They are real but relatively easy to overcome. Through diligence, perseverance, and attention to detail, the body adapts and develops a degree of mastery directly related to the demands placed upon it.
Due to the vigorous characteristics of the exercises incorporated into the Somatic Composition there is a great danger for the outcome, either consciously or subconsciously, to become a demonstration of skill, virtuosity, or tricks. This is deadly. Cold technique only serves, ultimately, to hide the true nature of the performer.
I find it most interesting that virtually every obstacle encountered in this work has it basis in the psychological makeup of the person involved. The mind seems always to throw up barricades well before the body creates or encounters its own. Fear, indecision, self-doubt, exhibitionism, vanity (and more) present themselves at every level of work and pose the greatest challenges. In choosing this work, we take on the responsibility of not avoiding these challenges, but seeking them out and facing them directly, thereby gaining freedom by surmounting them.
The Rigor of Repetition
It may seem odd to address repetition as a challenge for actors when the very nature of most live performance demands exactly that. My experience, however, has been that the repetition of a performance poses perhaps the single greatest struggle for actors at every level of experience. Once the performance score has been established through the rehearsal process, the actor accepts the responsibility of keeping it clear and alive. But for most actors, boredom sets in fairly quickly after the initial excitement of audience exchange passes, and the average actor’s typical response is to reject as invalid all of the work of rehearsal in favor of spontaneous invention or game-playing. This is usually done in the name of keeping the performance “fresh”, as if the performance amounted to a glass of grape juice. From this perspective it’s is natural to assume that creative work has a short shelf life and will quickly spoil. This lack of faith amounts to a betrayal of the rehearsal process, and almost always negatively impacts the quality and the integrity of the production. Impromptu invention undermines the painstaking work of the ensemble toward dramatic creation. When actors begin to experience struggles with the performance score they should re-invest in their inner process, searching for more detail and a deeper understanding of their associations and actions rather than abandon what has been prepared in favor of so-called inspiration. A performance thus maintained and well cared for will take on the richness, complexity and boldness of a full-bodied red wine. Live theatre cannot rely upon the moment-by-moment affection or disenchantment an actor may feel toward the performance score. (Obviously improvisational theatre is the exception to this statement.)
Every performance must be built upon and be reflective of the actions, relationships, texts and contexts established through the rehearsal process. Naturally, there will be incidental adjustments which must be made, but even those should happen within the parameters and logic of the score. The necessity of this kind of rigor regarding repetition holds particular importance in performances which eschew an attempt at creating a sense of casual naturalism in favor of complex relationships established through the weaving together of text, action, and gesture/signs. Key information may not be transmitted to the spectator if this symbiosis does not happen in the appropriate time and place. To achieve this the actor must perform the action as scored, in all its richness and precision, and not succumb to personal whim.
A dancer must continually confront technique, and choreographed dances depend on the dancer’s ability to maintain precision and transcend technique; the singer, whether of opera, musical comedy, or pop music, must sing the same notes each night and fill the melodies with meaning; the Rachmaninoff soloist wouldn’t consider altering the score. Why doesn’t this level of artistic integrity extend to theatrical performers? And the same applies to the producers who, given the standard yet artistically inadequate 3-4 weeks of rehearsal, don’t do much more than tell actors where to come in, sit down, stand up, and slap the villain across the face. They make sure that everything flows with a sense of logic, that the actors all know what’s going on, and that everyone picks up their cues. Nothing more is generally asked of the actors than to know the lines and movements around the furniture on stage and to navigate through the play with a semblance of naturalism and sincerity.
In Akropolis Performance Lab, we don’t accept this status quo. As both creative and interpretive artists, we understand that the performance score must be composed as precisely as anything by Bach and that we must illuminate it from within for each performance. We recognize this demands arduous work, that through our praxis we must renounce the path of least resistance and take up the challenge of craft— diligence, repetition, artifice, and authenticity.
